


A Family Affair (Terrible, Wonderful)

by Nostradumbass (singularthey)



Series: A Wonderful Family Affair [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Asphyxiation, Child Abuse, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Ephebophilia, F/M, M/M, Modern Era, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Parent/Child Incest, Pedophilia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Somnophilia, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singularthey/pseuds/Nostradumbass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur loves his wife dearly, and loves his adopted son Merlin just as well. He loves best the nights when he can have them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family Affair (Terrible, Wonderful)

**Author's Note:**

> This was unprompted, but was originally posted on the [kinkme_merlin Bon-Bons post](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/22767.html?thread=40202991#t40202991).

It's not that it's never crossed Arthur's mind that what he's doing might be wrong. He's not stupid, after all, and neither is he a _complete_ monster; there are times when he is at work in his office, or at home at the dinner table, and he is suddenly seized with guilt, frozen in place and trembling. Once, Gwen insisted that he see a doctor about it, but since then he'd learned some breathing exercises and learned to control himself.

He always tells himself, in those moments, that it's over. Every part of it. He will be the upstanding, loving husband and father his friends and neighbours see him as, and he will live a clean life, free of guilt.

He tells himself that, until he hears the rattle of a pill bottle, and his cock rises in a Pavlovian response to it.

The sleeping pills were a suggestion from his sister, who has no clue what role she's played in his depravity. Gwen doesn't even see a doctor to get them properly, Morgana is so free with them. Arthur suspects she thinks Gwen is abusing them, and wants to laugh at the idea of it.

They work quickly, and so does Arthur: by the time Gwen's in bed, already sluggish and half-incoherent, he's pressed inside her, thrusting slow and sweet. She murmurs sweet things into his ear, and moans when he mouths at her breasts and neck.

Sometimes she falls asleep before either of them can come, and it sends a shiver down his spine. He can't help himself then, can't keep his hips from snapping hard and fast.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, she is clinging to wakefulness, her hands travelling up and down his back, squeezing at his arse. "Arthur," she slurs, tipping her head up for a kiss. He obliges her, but keeps it slow, messy and wet. He can feel it when she comes, and he hurries a bit then, watching her eyes flutter shut, her breathing start to even out against her will.

She's still just barely awake when he comes, pulling out and painting her thigh with it. She wipes at it half-heartedly and turns over onto her stomach, and in a moment he can hear her start to snore lightly.

Even then, he waits. It's unlikely that she'll wake up, and even more unlikely she'll remember anything at all if she does, but he doesn't dare take that chance. He lies in the dark for several minutes, still as the dead, before he gets up and gathers his dressing gown.

There's a light in the hall, left over from the days when their son was young and still scared of the dark. It serves him well now, casting just enough light into the boy's room to see him in his bed, still peacefully asleep.

Sometimes, he hears Arthur coming, and is awake by the time he gets there. On those nights, Arthur makes up some story about why he's come to visit him in the dark.

Often, he still finds a reason to do what he wants; it's only that then, when he's looking into his boy's bright eyes and smiling face, he has to lie to himself, to pretend it's not so bad, because Merlin is adopted.

He's fairly certain that if Gwen had been able to have children, if she had had a child half as beautiful, clever, and kind as Merlin, he wouldn't change his habits at all. He's completely certain, in his moments of clarity, that there is nothing less terrible about what he does to his son, just because they share no blood.

Tonight, since Merlin is still asleep, Arthur can look his fill. It gives him time; he's not a teenager any more, and can't get it up again so quickly. He rubs at his cock through the thin material of the dressing gown, thinking of Merlin's mouth, slack and half-open in sleep.

When he is half-hard again, he goes further down the hall and creeps down the stairs. He turns the tap in the kitchen on slowly, is careful to make as little noise as possible with the dishes, and climbs the stairs again, avoiding the creakiest points. He's cautious and quiet enough that Merlin hasn't stirred at all when he gets back, and he can walk right to his bedside without worry.

He'd always thought it was a stupid trick, putting someone's hand in warm water. He'd thoroughly disbelieved it could work until someone had successfully used it on one of his classmates, back in his school days; the perpetrator, Gwaine, had been punished for it and all, and poor Percival was only lucky he'd grown up big and rough enough that no one dared keep on teasing him for it.

And now it proves so useful. Its main function is as an excuse, as a back-up plan: if Gwen should ever wake up and wonder where he'd gone to, or if Merlin ever looked strangely guilty or upset in the morning, he'd only need explain that their son had had an accident he didn't want to talk about. Surely there weren't many thirteen-year-olds who relished the idea of telling their mothers they'd wet the bed.

It's more than that, of course. Merlin is so much more open to suggestion when he thinks he might be punished, and it only takes a little sternness to make him think that's possible.

And, although it had not started that way, over time Arthur has grown to enjoy watching it happen. Even as he carefully puts Merlin's hand in the bowl, his cock twitches.

One day, he promises himself, excited and covered in darkness, he'll get Merlin to wet himself during a particularly hot night, with his sheets pushed away and his pyjamas loose enough to be pulled down. He desperately wants to see him bare and helpless, wants to see the piss spurt out of his cock directly.

That particular desire doesn't bother him much; of all the things he will do tonight, watching his son wet himself is far from the worst.

It begins slowly. Merlin's face doesn't change at all, and he doesn't move, but a tiny wet spot begins to show on the thin sheet covering him. As it grows, it starts to come faster, and soon the sheet is nearly transparent, yellowed and so sopping wet it clings to Merlin's soaking thighs. Arthur can _hear_ it, and he realises he's been holding his breath for the sound, and lets it out in a huff, almost amused at himself.

Merlin is still asleep when it stops, and Arthur takes a moment to stroke himself again, his hand dipping into the folds of his dressing gown. He's almost completely erect now, and the trip downstairs with the bowl is a little more awkward, the trip up a little more slow. The front of his dressing gown pokes outward obscenely, but Merlin hardly bats an eye at that, these days.

He gets a damp flannel before he goes in. Merlin will have to bathe properly in the morning, but he wouldn't like sleeping without some clean-up. He clutches it hard in his excitement and sits on the edge of Merlin's bed. He doesn't need to be so careful now.

"Merlin," he stage whispers, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. God, it's so thin under his hand; it's his good luck that Merlin, even after a growth spurt, is still skinny and slim-boned. He will probably grow to be tall, but his slight frame is impossibly attractive, and Arthur is glad he's kept it even as puberty has set in.

Merlin's brow furrows and he grumbles, frowning in his sleep. He shifts his legs slightly, then again, and abruptly pushes himself up when he registers the wetness on his thighs. He turns wide eyes to Arthur in the dark, and they shine with the light from the hall, beautiful and anxious.

"You've had another accident," Arthur says, needlessly. Then, slightly stern: "If you only used the toilet before bed like I keep telling you to, this wouldn't happen."

He's happy Merlin doesn't listen, and happier still he never thinks to question how Arthur always knows when he's wet his bed.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"I didn't mean it," Merlin says, scrambling out of his bed. He doesn't waste a second shucking his pyjama bottoms and pants, though he picks them up delicately, between thumb and forefinger, and holds them out to his father like they're terribly offensive. Arthur tries not to stare openly at his son's penis, limp against his leg, as he takes them.

"I know you didn't." He hands Merlin the flannel, and can't resist watching the way he runs it repeatedly over his groin. Only for a second, though, and then he's stripping the bedsheets.

There are several small stains on the mattress; he never lets the mess sit for long, but it's discoloured a bit in a few spots nonetheless. It's not enough for anyone to know what's happened just from looking, but Arthur appreciates them for the reminders they are.

Five minutes later, as Arthur finishes scrubbing at the newest spot, Merlin is still babbling almost-apologies.

"I didn't even have anything to drink before I went to bed, I swear." He hasn't put on new pants or pyjamas, and it's driving Arthur mad to see his young cock swing slightly with every move he makes. "I went just an hour or so before bed, too!"

Arthur sighs, pretending to be tired and exasperated. He gets new, clean sheets out, and the thought strikes him that one day he should lay down on the messy bed with Merlin before the clean-up.

He bites his tongue to keep from making a noise at that thought, and sets to making up the bed.

"I believe you, Merlin," he says, tucking in the corners, "but if this keeps up, I'm going to put you in nappies again."

Oh, that's a lovely memory. Gwen had left them to visit her family one weekend, and Arthur had played at being angry after making Merlin wet himself, had punished him by making him wear thick, crinkling nappies to bed. He had _ordered_ Merlin to wet himself that night, to act like a baby if he insisted on wetting the bed like one, and when there had only been a little spot of urine in it the next morning, he'd pushed on Merlin's stomach until he couldn't stop himself. Merlin had cried, and Arthur had felt horrible for it, but only later. He's just so pretty when he cries.

Arthur had rubbed Merlin's stiff little cock through the nappy before he allowed him to take it off, and then had rubbed his own cock in the privacy of his bedroom. He still wanks regularly to that memory, when he can get a moment to himself.

Merlin, though, cringes at the thought of it, and his shoulders hunch a little.

"You don't need to, I won't do it again," Merlin promises. "Please, please don't be angry, Dad."

Arthur chuckles at that, dropping all pretence. "I'm not angry. Look." He parts his dressing gown just below the belt and gives his hard, blushing cock a loose, quick stroke.

Merlin perks up then, and Arthur tells himself that it must make it okay, that Merlin enjoys it. Or doesn't dislike it, at least. "Oh," says Merlin, "have you been with Mum, then?"

It's an easy lie, to imply that it's Gwen that's got him hard. "Yeah. Go on and see for yourself."

Merlin gives him a confused look until Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, pulling him in by the waist and then pushing down on his shoulders. Merlin sinks to his knees easily, and eyes Arthur's cock without more than a little nervousness. His hot breath puffs out over the head, and Arthur fists one hand into his hair, as much to steady himself as it is to lead Merlin.

"I'll bet you can still taste her on my cock," he explains, and pushes Merlin down. His son opens his mouth quickly, remembering easily enough, and lets himself be fed his father's cock. His lips wrap around the head so nicely, and Arthur wishes he could see them, stretched and pink, in better light.

No matter; his mouth feels hot, wet, and fantastic. Merlin suckles automatically, humming at what he surely imagines is the taste of his mother's cunt. He would probably eat her out, Arthur thinks, with exactly as much enthusiasm as he sucks Arthur's cock. The thought almost makes him jealous, and, at the same time, makes heat coil in his groin.

For a few minutes, he just lets Merlin lick and suck, tasting and teasing. He won't willingly take more than the tip on his own, so Arthur pushes him slowly, easing him down his cock and filling him more. He swipes his thumb over Merlin's cheek, feeling himself inside, and a little precome spurts into the back of Merlin's throat, making him gag slightly.

The sound does something to Arthur, and he cups the sides of Merlin's head, his fingers hooking behind his ears — they're like handles, he thinks, with the way they stick out — and spreading down over his jaw. Merlin seems so small in his hands, and that thought makes him thrust, pushing himself further than Merlin can comfortably take him. Merlin has closed his eyes by now, shut them tight against the discomfort, but Arthur hardly cares. He only gives a few rough thrusts, then settles himself deep for a moment and pinches Merlin's nostril's shut.

Merlin is so perfectly, beautiful willing to please, he stays utterly still for as long as he can, before instinct and the desperate need for air get to him and make him struggle. Arthur is stronger, of course, and holds him there for just a few moments more before letting go of him. Merlin sits back on his heels and gasps for breath, coughing and panting.

He's only out of it for a moment, though, before he leans back in, but Arthur stops him with a hand.

"Not yet," he says, and pats the bed.

Merlin hesitates briefly before climbing up beside him. He doesn't even need instruction to lay himself out on his back, his knees up and spread wide enough to show off his cock — just a little hard, but not much — along with his barely-hairy balls and his tight little arsehole.

Arthur curses the light, and gets up. "Have you been using your toy, like I told you?"

Merlin nods, remaining otherwise still. "It's under the bed."

Arthur finds it by feel, and holds it up to inspect it: a stuffed dragon puppet, one his sister had given Merlin for his last birthday. Merlin had seemed appreciative, but he was a thirteen-year-old boy and had little use for plush animals. Arthur had taken it upon himself one night to find a use for it, and instructed Merlin to use it whenever he felt the urge to masturbate. He'd hardly expected him to listen, had only expected to enjoy the fantasy of it, but sure enough, the inside of it is crusted with come.

He drops it on Merlin's stomach before crawling between his spread knees.

"I want you to use it, right now. Show me how well you've listened."

Merlin's breath hitches slightly, but he obeys, stuffing his mostly-soft cock into it awkwardly. He slips out, and stuffs himself back in again, but at first it's mostly just a rubbing motion, dull and inexpert, with the still-soft rump of the toy.

As he strokes himself, Arthur spits onto his fingers, then onto Merlin's balls. Merlin's legs jerk at the feel of it, but he calms himself when Arthur rubs it in with his thumb, slicking it down over his perineum.

Merlin's stroking himself faster, half-hard inside his dragon toy, but his voice trembles when he asks, "Are you going to try to put it in me again?"

Some distant part of Arthur feels only heartbreak at the way Merlin sounds; the more present part of him, however, is all the more eager now that it's been said. "I am, but only the tip. I know it's big, and I don't want to hurt you."

He doesn't want to, not really, but he thinks that if he has to hurt Merlin a little to get inside him, he will.

He pushes his thumb just in, feeling tension and resistance. He switches it out for one finger, forcing it past the ring of tight muscle even as Merlin squirms. "I'm going to go slow, all right?"

"Okay." It sounds resigned, but he can see how hard Merlin is, how quickly he's pulling the dragon puppet up and down his cock.

He doesn't bother with using more fingers, or applying more spit. He's never needed to put in much effort when he fucked Gwen's arse, and he can't stand to draw it out any further. He takes himself in hand, pulls back his foreskin fully, and rubs the head of his cock all around Merlin's arsehole before slowly, firmly pushing in.

Watching Merlin's body yield just slightly to him is breathtaking. He can feel a surprisingly powerful resistance, and he makes soothing noises and rubs his hand up and down Merlin's thigh. He tells him to relax, but it seems to have little effect; still, he keeps pushing, and after what feels like a most fantastic eternity, the head of his cock, right up to the edge of his retracted foreskin, is inside Merlin's arse.

Arthur pants, sweating. The urge to push in further, to force Merlin's body to take him, is nearly overwhelming, but he remains mostly still, his hips rocking only slightly. Merlin's hand has gone still on his cock, the puppet's head falling limply to one side, and his expression is pinched, but he's still erect and he hasn't made a sound.

Carefully, Arthur learns forward, pressing a delicate kiss to Merlin's forehead. "You're doing so well. You feel _so_ good. Thank you, Merlin."

With what appears to be a Herculean effort, Merlin opens his eyes, squinting up at Arthur in the darkness. "It feels weird."

"I know it does," Arthur says, kissing his cheek, his chin. "It's going to, at first. We'll work on it, make it better."

Merlin makes a small noise in the back of his throat and then, after a pause, starts to move his hand again.

"That's it, come on. Show me how you do it."

Merlin has no finesse, no technique to speak of, but he's a teenaged boy, and it takes very little time before his hips are moving in little jerks, his fingers going to his mouth as if to stuff his wordless cries back into his throat. Arthur keeps his hand firm on his own cock, keeping himself from slipping out and occasionally feeling with a fingertip where he's stuffed into Merlin, where his flesh is stretched and raw. He presses in when Merlin comes, his body trying to push him out, and peppers kisses over Merlin's face as his orgasm ends, come leaking out of the puppet's hole.

"Oh, _Merlin_ ," Arthur murmurs, his hand beginning to move up and down the shaft of his cock. He still keeps only the head in, but positioned like that, knowing just who it is he's pressed inside, he comes close, so close to coming.

One of his greatest fantasies, in the dark of his mind, is coming right inside Merlin and watching it leak out of his abused hole. But he can't risk it; just the idea of Gwen somehow noticing his come in Merlin's arse makes his chest feel tight with terror, and so as he reaches the edge, he pinches his cock just where it meets Merlin's arse, just hard enough to stave off orgasm. He remains that way a few seconds more, and then reluctantly pulls out.

Merlin gasps slightly at the newly-empty feeling, and sits up, leaning over to stuff the puppet back under his bed. He doesn't look at Arthur as he asks, "Do you to finish in my mouth, Dad?"

Arthur laughs, quiet and breathless. "The idea is tempting, but no, not after what we've just done. I'm fine for now, Merlin. Go to sleep; I'll take care of your pyjamas and the sheets."

He makes sure Merlin's in a fresh pair of pants and pyjama bottoms before he goes, and spends nearly three minutes just outside the door considering the merits of using Merlin's soiled bottoms to get off. 

He decides against it, and only strokes himself lightly, just to keep his cock hard enough to poke through the opening in his dressing gown. He hasn't taken it off all night, and he imagines, when he breathes deep against the elbow of it, that he can smell Merlin on it.

Back in his bedroom, Gwen is still asleep; she hasn't moved at all, in fact, from the position he left her in. He nudges her side a bit as he climbs back into bed, shucking his dressing down and taking himself in hand. She never did mind if he masturbated while she slept, and at least if he's in bed, it'll seem normal, and he can fantasise about the dirtiest things he likes.

But she doesn't stir at all when touched, and after a few strokes, a terrible, wonderful idea occurs to Arthur.

He's shit at resisting those sorts of ideas on nights like these.

Experimentally, he nudges her leg again, and then reaches down and pulls on it a bit when she doesn't respond. He climbs between her legs, shoving the other one further apart as well. When she still remains asleep, his heart beats fast in his chest.

He'll have to look up those sleeping pills, he thinks, because they seem as good as magic.

Her thigh is still a mess from earlier, and she's so relaxed and pliant, he slips into her with almost no trouble. She's warm and still wet, and as he fucks her sleeping body slowly, grinding his pelvis into her, he lets himself imagine sinking into Merlin that way. Maybe he wouldn't even wake him, either, and he wonders if he could ever figure out a good reason to convince Merlin to take one of her pills.

He's not sure he likes the idea, but the thought of fucking Merlin at all is enough, and finally, _finally_ , he comes, still sheathed in Gwen's wet cunt.

The last terrible, wonderful thing he does for the night is partly the result of the sleepiness that sets in after he's come — for the second time that night, he reminds himself, trying not to feel old. The truth, of course, is that he would have wanted to do it anyway, but it's so much easier to convince himself that that bone-tired feeling is to blame.

Nature calls, and the thought of getting up once again to relieve himself makes Arthur groan in frustration. He should have thought of it sooner, should have taken care of it as soon as he'd cleaned up Merlin's things, but he'd been so absorbed in the glowing feeling of pleasure, so concerned with his erection he hadn't bothered. Now, he doesn't want to even pull his cock out of his wife's warm body.

So he doesn't.

He feels vaguely horrified with himself, but also tingly-good, as he feels his bladder release, his still half-hard cock wedged inside Gwen's cunt. She keeps on sleeping like the dead, and as it overflows back on his cock he pulls out, holding himself so that his stream flows over her clit and urethra.

It will be too easy, he thinks, to convince her she wet the bed herself, and pulling the same trick twice in one night, on both of the people he loves with both his heart and his body, makes him feel deliciously awful. He only hopes she won't stop taking her sleeping pills because of it.

He lets the last of his piss drip down onto the bed between her legs, then climbs over her and into his own spot on the other side of the bed, dry and sated.

In the morning, Gwen will be horrified at herself, and not notice Merlin's slightly-stiff walk at all. Arthur will spend an extra twenty minutes in bed, hating himself so much he'll consider not getting up at all.

Next week, when he hears the clatter of the pill bottle, he will do it all again.


End file.
